


A Battlefield Not of His Own Choosing  (original)

by bittenfeld



Category: Miami Vice, Miami Vice (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship/Love, M/M, Male Slash, Police Procedural, Slash, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: A developing-relationship story for Sonny Crockett and Martin Castillo, as the lieutenant’s dark past comes back to haunt him.New - chapter 5:   Castillo arrives in Utah, and meets up with the Company agents from the field office.But even as he lay in bed, his conscious mind pounded at him: what piece of the puzzle hadn't he been given? And why? But for all they wouldn’t reveal, he had his secrets too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Marty…” Sonny gasped with his last coherent breath, “You don’t have to do this for me…” “I want to do this for you.” The voice was quiet, breath uneven with barely suppressed ex¬citement. “We’ve both wanted this for a long time.”

PROLOGUE:

Rising from his chair, the tall silver-haired Englishman strolled over to the picture window overlooking the lush vegetation of the ranch house’s front grounds.  The anomaly of greenery stretched for thirty feet or so, where it ended abruptly at a stone-wall boundary.  On the other side of the barricade stretched the southern Utah desert.

The last wisps of day were fading rapidly over the distant sandstone cliffs of Zion Park.  Afternoon’s rain clouds had dissipated by now, and the hazeless crystal blue sky promised chill temperatures tonight.

Across the room, the middle-aged Mexican businessman opened the briefcase sitting on the coffee table and carefully laid the manila envelope inside.

“Muchas gracias, mi compadre,” he thanked the man at the window.  “Your information is always worth the price.  But are you sure that Señor Menton told you everything he knew before he died?”

“Everything I could get out of him.”  Alex Tremayne paced back across the hardwood floor to look at his visitor.

The seated man shrugged.  “Perhaps you might have learned more,” he suggested mildly, “had your methods of extraction not be so… eficiente, eh?  I saw his body after you had finished.  Perhaps he could have… offered more, had you allowed him to live a little longer…”

“My methods got you the names and whereabouts of a dozen Federal agents between here and Chihuahua.  Eliminating them should keep you busy and your Peruvians happy for awhile.  Beyond that, I had a personal account to settle with Mr. Menton, and I settled it.  That is none of your afdark, Señor Campos.”

“I am merely concerned for your safety now, Señor Tremayne,” Campos allowed.  Your enthusiasm might draw the attention of your fellow operativos to you.  You are an asset to us.  I know that my superintendentes would like to continue to do business with you, and they would be disappointed should you become… incapacitated.”

“Then it would benefit all of us if your people began at the top of the list with the Company agents operating out of Cedar City.  Let me worry about the rest of it.  I’ve no intention of allowing our mutual business arrangements to be interrupted.”

“Bueno.  I am glad to hear it.  Because, as a matter of fact, we do have another assignment for you right now, should you be interested.”

“What is it?”  From the carafe on the low table, the Englishman refilled their glasses, then sat back down again.

Campos removed a packet from the briefcase.  “The Peruvians are experiencing some difficulties with their Miami connections.  Some of their contacts are obviously policías, but so far they have been unable to determine which ones.”  Pulling off the rubber band, he tossed a stack of photographs onto the table before his host.  They were candid hidden snapshots of small clusters of people, like surveillance photos – some clear, some too fuzzy for identification, most useable.

“You agentes Americanos all know each other, do you not?” the man remarked dryly.  “Perhaps someone here is an old acquaintance of yours, eh?”

His host smiled blandly and reached for the photos.  “We don’t know every one.  But there are ways to find out.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

CHAPTER 1:

Sensual comfortable warmth settle low in his belly and made its home there.  Relaxing back against the large silk cushions on the floor, Sonny Crockett indulged in another long sip of the agreeable saké, and pleasantly eyed his dinner partner beside him.  The dark man kneeling at the low polished sandalwood table continued to eat his meal in silence.

“Hey,” Sonny urged, nudging a stockinged foot against the other man’s hip.  “Relax, man.  You’ve been as sullen as a statue all afternoon.  Now, c’mon, you invited me up here for some good home-cookin’ and stimulating conversation, but it seems like I’ve done all the talking tonight.”

Black eyes flicked in his direction; Martin Castillo said nothing, but took another bite of rice and fish.

Crockett smiled quietly, openly.  The saké’s warmth soothed so seductively.  “C’mon, Marty, what’s up?  Did I do something today that irritated you?  If I did, I’m sorry…”

“No,” the soft husky voice interrupted.  “It wasn’t you.  Something came up this afternoon… something I wasn’t expecting.”

“Captain Davidson getting on your back?”

“No.  It’s got nothing to do with the Department.  Just something… personal.”

Compliantly Sonny nodded, accepting the other man’s reticence.  “Sure.  Well, if you do decide to talk, you know I’ll always listen.”

A slight incline of dark head.  “Thanks, Sonny.”  Then laying his chopsticks neatly beside his plate, Castillo took his own cup of rice wine and settled back into the pillows alongside the blond.  “But you’re right.  I did ask you up here for dinner and conversation, and I’ve been remiss as a host.”

Sonny continued to smile, and the warmth in his belly wasn’t all from the saké.  God, how much he enjoyed this man’s company.  Three years of working together, him and Rico and the lieutenant, sharing pleasant off-duty hours frequently… damn, what a team they made.  There wasn't anything any one of them wouldn’t do for the others – and that included the rest of the gang back at OCB.

The intense gaze captured him; beneath the pleasant haze of warm alcohol, Crockett felt himself impaled like a butterfly specimen – and butterflies was what he felt inside, fluttering with anticipation and excitement and undeniable sexual electricity.  How often had he considered baring his soul to this man and pleading with him to come to bed and let them both soothe away the hell of the streets for each other.  One night – that was all Sonny would ask for… although one night would never be enough.

Yet how often had he forgotten that the dark man could already read his soul any time, bared or not.  That Castillo had known his private desires all along, even without Sonny needing to speak – that the silent man knew how to read other silences effortlessly.

The dark eyes softened, lids lowered, gaze shifted from Crockett’s eyes to his mouth.

Sonny felt his muscles go lax beneath the deep scrutiny.  The heat inside his body all flowed into his groin, stung his genitals awake.  “Oh god, Marty,” he grinned, excited, and just a little inebriated, “you know what I want.  We don’t need conversation after all…”

“I know what you want.”  The gaze fixated on smiling lips.  “I want to give it to you.”

The words Crockett had desired to hear, had needed to hear, flowed over his consciousness like honey.  He slipped a gentle caressing hand onto a black-trousered thigh a mere few inches away.  “Then let’s do it, Marty.  Whatever’s eating you tonight, let me take it from you.”

At Crockett’s touch, Castillo’s nerves twitched abruptly, and a faint sigh of breath escaped between his teeth.  He lay back on the pillows.  “I wish you could, Sonny.”

“Let me try.”  Fingers trailed up a bare brown arm to a crisp short-sleeved white shirt, eliciting little goose-bumps in their wake.  Green eyes twinkled seductively, gravelly voice coaxed softly, “C’mon, Marty.”

The dark man moved beneath the caresses, as though needing the intimacy, yet fighting it at the same time.  And Sonny felt his cock begin to swell at the subtle suggestion of vulnerability, like it did every time Castillo allowed him in, or insinuated himself into Crockett’s own vulnerable core.

“Marty…” – and the name itself was a caress – “oh god, I want you… please… let’s have tonight together…”

Martin Castillo only breathed a long shuddering breath; then slipping a hand beneath the other man’s body, pulled him over on top so that Sonny straddled him on elbows and knees, two pairs of eyes ascertaining each other.  Through their clothing, genitals in comparable states of attention rubbed tentatively.  Another deep inspiration, barely controlled, then Castillo embraced his dinner guest, one hand cupping Crockett’s firm-muscled ass, the other tangling into fine sun-streaked hair and pressing the handsome face down for a hard wet kiss.

With a desperate groan of utter dissolution, Crockett collapsed on top of the Hispanic man.  Every desire he’d ever suppressed toward his supervisor now exploded through his body, searing bone, muscle, nerve.  The heavy throb of his heart pulsed in his cock, and he felt it surge to full erection in his pants as it begged for relief.  Excitedly their hands moved all over each other’s flesh, trying to touch everywhere at once; two bodies panting, moaning, trying to eat each other alive.  Vigorously Crockett humped the hard-muscled thigh between his legs, heedless of the possibility of friction burns to his sensitive flesh.  Beneath him Castillo squirmed wantonly, rubbing his own steel-hard spear against its neighbor.  Two pairs of hands tugged impatiently at obstructive clothing, seeking skin-to-skin contact, nearly yanking buttons off if the fastenings didn’t give way quickly enough.

In a tangle the two men rolled together, on the cushions and on the floor.  Now Crockett was underneath, a near drug-like high screaming through his veins, as he writhed beneath the Latin’s weight.  Gripping the hem of Sonny’s t-shirt, Castillo worked it up the smooth torso, trapping Crockett’s arms over his head and masking his face; then took advantage of the blond’s hampered position to thoroughly molest the exposed chest and belly – stroke, kiss, lick…

Convulsively the golden body lurched beneath the assault.  Lips fastened on an erect nipple, tugged at it, while a wet tongue rubbed all around; then raising his head an inch, the man on top whispered a cool breath across the saliva-slick breast.

“Marty!” Crockett’s shirt muffled the outcry.  He tried to free himself, but Castillo held him effectively pinned, then pushed a hand down into the fly of loose white linen slacks.  “… oh… Marty!”

Intent upon his task, Castillo didn’t answer the passionate incoherencies, but continued his liberties upon his subordinate’s body; reached into the open clothing and found a hefty handful of Crockett’s toys.

“… _gddd!_ …” Sonny gasped, loins thrusting up.  A dribble of pre-sem was already oozing from the glans.  And then Castillo finally released his arms; and pulling the shirt up and off, Crockett watched in fascinated wonderment as the dark head lowered to capture his seeking cock and kiss it gently.

Again hips jerked.  Icy tendrils sizzled right through his solar plexus, and the keen sensations drove him wild.  He couldn’t prevent a jolt of semen spurting out, grinning to himself as it did so.  He hadn't come up this hard – and this fast – in a long time… not since adolescent hormones had raged in his veins… how many years ago?  A few white droplets spattered the dark face hovering between his legs.

“Marty…” he gasped with his last coherent breath, “You don’t have to do this for me…”

“I want to do this for you.”  The voice was quiet, breath uneven with barely suppressed excitement.  “We’ve both wanted this for a long time.”

Only a grunt of agreement sounded from Crockett’s throat.  Incredible sensations threatened to drown him:  the feather caresses of thick ebony hair brushing against the insides of his thighs, the gentle suction of a warm wet mouth and tongue coaxing his penis.  Unable to keep from touching, his fingers tangled in grey-flecked black, both hands, clutching the soft hair to hold his supervisor’s head to its job, while Castillo concentrated on sucking him dry.

Because it was their first time together, neither could delay bodily responses with any kind of controlled discipline.  Castillo’s tongue prodded up the underside ridge of Crockett’s leaking cock; and as the tongue-tip burrowed right there beneath the crown ridge, Sonny gasped a sharp grunt of shock, and squirted everything he had in a powerful surging ejaculation.  Quickly Castillo covered the shooting organ with his mouth, caught the spurting fluid, swallowed it.

Then sliding back up on top of the other man, he began to thrust roughly between them, ramming his hard aching organ against Crockett’s belly heaving for breath.  Sonny could feel the rock-hard shaft thrusting vigorously; a few seconds of intense work, breath rasping deep in Castillo’s throat, and the Latin came, shot his hot load all over the two of them, while powerful shudders claimed his muscles.

They lay there on the floor, weak as kittens, amid the scattered cushions, gulping air and waiting for the world to settle down a little.  Viscid ejaculate smeared tackily between their bodies.  Gently a hand touched Crockett’s spent tender organ, and moustached lips found a spot to kiss at the base of his throat, kissed and kissed again.

Sonny half-laughed, half-panted a chuckle, reached up to fondle sweat-damp black silk.  Castillo’s tongue prodded his flesh, hands slid into Crockett’s hair.

“Marty…” Sonny murmured beneath the other man’s weight and sensuality, “I’ll come again pretty soon… if you keep doing this to me…”

“Yes,” Castillo agreed simply, undeterred from his exploration.  Rolling to the side, he stroked a hand up and down Crockett’s torso, plucked aimlessly at damp pubic hair, then back up to tweak rose nipples, while the overly-sensitized skin quivered at his touch.  Green eyes flickered pleasure as they took in the scarred but still attractive face observing him so intently.  As in everything else, Castillo was dedicated to detail.

And Crockett reciprocated, tactilely mapping the Hispanic’s smooth chest and belly, following delineation of ribs, pectoral swells, erect tits, down to the softening organ nestled in coarse dark curls.

Looking up at the blond’s face, Castillo’s sharp black gaze mellowed a little now in post-climactic fatigue.

Sonny grinned contentment.  “Hey, Marty, I’ve got a great idea.  Let’s do this again tomorrow night… and the night after that…”

The moustache caressed his face as firm lips kissed the corner of his mouth, and the quiet voice suggested, “I’ve got a better idea.  Let’s go upstairs and do it again right now.”

With a yielding shrug, Crockett surrendered willingly.  “Your word is my command, Lieutenant… and I’ve never once disobeyed you…”

“I know,” the Latino replied succinctly; and taking hold of the other man’s head, inserted a probing tongue into a begging mouth for a deep-throated kiss.

* * * * *  ( _to be continued_ )

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkwardness and a little uncertainty fluttered in Crockett’s belly, as he strolled a few steps closer behind his supervisor. When did concern cross the line into meddling? But if he didn’t say something now, the uneasiness would never go away.

The next morning, after stopping off at the boat for a change of clothes, Sonny arrived at the office a half-hour before eight A.M. briefing.  As though it was a day like any other, he clocked in, stopped at his locker, dropped by the staff kitchen for coffee and one of yesterday’s doughnuts, then settled down at his desk and grabbed the first case-file on top of the stack.

But today was not like any other, and work was the furthest thing from his mind.

Castillo was not in his office; instead, he was probably attending a supervisor’s briefing with the captain.

A warm tingle teased Crockett’s belly at the thought of the lieutenant.  The normally staid reticent man had been more than responsive the night before.  What words hadn't expressed, hands and lips and body had.  And gradually the shadows which had clouded his earlier attitude had dissipated be­neath Sonny’s persistent attentions…

Case-file facts and figures on the desk drifted into a blur, as Sonny’s nerves responded again to the memory of what the dark man had done to him long into the night.

True to his word, the Latin had escorted Sonny up to the loft bedroom, and made slow passio­nate love to him, leaving no inch of skin unstimulated, no technique at Sonny’s request untried.  After licking and fondling the blond back to a desperate of need, Castillo had offered himself, and Sonny had mounted him and worked them both into a frenzy, until warm semen had jetted into the captive body crouched acquiescently on elbows and knees.  And then Crockett had found himself on his back, utterly lax and limp, and his supervisor between his knees, preparing to enter him.  With only a little difficulty, Castillo had manipulated himself inside until he filled Sonny completely, then pounded to an ultimate ecstasy, draining both of them to the last drop.  Afterwards, they had slept until daybreak in a tangle of legs and arms and sweaty sheets, and Sonny couldn’t remember such a relaxing curative rest in a very long time…

“Earth to Sonny, Earth to Sonny,” a familiar voice greeted from behind.

“Huh?”  Startled out of his reverie, Crockett looked around to see his partner at the time-clock across the room.  Slight embarrassment pinked his face as he felt his cock leaking a droplet of pre-sem in his pants from the night’s pleasant recollections, as though Rico had caught him masturbating.  Not that it mattered – he and Rico had shared a number of casual friendly nights together in the three years since they’d teamed up; and the black man certainly knew him as intimately as Castillo did now.

Hanging his suit coat on a wall hook near his desk, Ricardo Tubbs pulled out his chair and slouched into it, eyed his partner across the desk-tops.

“I said, ‘what’s happenin’, man?’  Are you among the living this morning, pal, or shall I just hit the streets alone today and, uh, leave you to rest in peace?”

Sonny couldn’t hide the grin brightening his face, so he didn’t even try to, as he reassured, “I’m alive and awake, and feelin’ _real_ good this morning, Rico old buddy.  How are you?”

“Fine, just fine… although obviously not as fine as you.  Listen, is there anything you want to tell me?  Like, uh, you been sniffin’ something in the property room in the last hour or so?”

“Naah, not me.”

Honey eyes watched him playfully.  “Well, then, either some stranger just handed you one-mil in small unmarked bills on your way to the office this morning, or you got laid real good last night.”

Glancing briefly into the inner pockets of his white cotton jacket, Crockett shook his head.  “No mil on hand, so it must be the lay.” 

“Uh huh.  Anyone I know?”

“Mm, maybe, maybe not.”

Returning his interest to his coffee cup and the open file in front of him, Sonny attempted to avert any further questions that might make him inadvertently say more than he intended to at this time.  There were things Rico didn’t need to know.  For that matter, he had to discipline his own mind to drop the discussion now so that he could get some work done today and earn his pay.  If only he could earn another night like last night…

But Tubbs had no intention of dropping the tantalizing subject just yet.

“Dude or chick?” he prodded coaxingly.

A sigh of mild exasperation escaped Crockett’s nostrils.  “Rico,” he complained, and tossed a file folder across the desks.  “Here, if you don’t have enough work to occupy your mind this morning, you can always help me with mine.”

“Just curious, pal.  Whatever, uh, therapy you received last night, I’m envious.  I’d just like to know who it was.”

Amusement flickered in green eyes, but Sonny tried to sound serious as he protested, “C’mon, man, that’s private info.  I don’t squeal to someone else when you and I share a little, uh, extracurricular time together.”

“Yeah, but we’re partners.  Partners shouldn’t have any secrets from each other.”

“A few, pal, a few.”

The heat was building again between Sonny’s legs just from this discussion… shit, how was he going to sit in the briefing room with the rest of the team and Castillo at the head of the table, and not act like a schoolboy in lust with the teacher?… thank god his pants hung full-cut in front, or everyone in the office would figure it out in no time flat.

As if on cue, a dark conservative man wearing a dark conservative suit entered the room.  Briefly his gaze noted the two at their desks as he passed through to the ready-room.

“Hey, Lieutenant,” Rico greeted.

“Rico, Sonny,” Castillo acknowledged, without any special indication in Crockett’s direction that they had just awakened in each other’s arms less than two hours before.

And Crockett couldn’t stop the surge of heat that raced through his nerves at the touch of the soft raspy voice; he felt his eager flesh rise to the occasion unbidden, while his heart suddenly decided to trip-hammer inside his rib-cage.  God, how badly he wanted to lie between that man’s legs again right now and sink into the intimate warmth of the Latin’s body.

Maybe tonight.  They had made no plans for this evening, so later Sonny would extend an invita­tion for dinner and late entertainment back on the St. Vitus after work.

The briefing-room door closed behind the dark figure; abruptly Crockett became aware that his partner across their desks was grinning at him, right on the verge of laughing, pale eyes twinkling conspiratorially.

“Castillo?” the black man guessed the obvious, and Sonny felt his flush deepen.  “You and the lieutenant?”  Delight brightened the good-looking brown face.  “That’s great.”

Sonny’s head dropped in embarrassment.  “Rico…”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Switek and Zito enter the office followed by the girls; and hissed to his partner, “If you don’t mind, would you please not give me away in front of the rest of the gang?  Just drop it now.”

Tubbs’ voice lowered to match his companion’s, but the pale eyes still twinkled devilishly.  “Sure, man,” he agreed, “but I’m not the one who’ll give you away.  Good thing that wasn’t part of an undercover assignment – or you’d’ve just blown your cover sky-high when Castillo walked into the room.”

“Fuck you too, pal.”

Pink tongue-tip flicked out between full sensual lips.  “Anytime, partner… anytime.  Your place or mine?”

Subtle flare flickered in Sonny’s gaze.  “Enough, Rico, okay?  Now that you’ve gotten your mor­ning laugh…”

“Hey, man, I’m not laughing at you, you know that.  I think it’s terrific.  Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”  And strolling around their desks, Tubbs gently slapped his friend’s shoulder.  “C’mon, let’s not be late for briefing.  Just take a deep breath now.  C’mon.”

“Mornin’, sports-fans,” Switek’s cheerful voice greeted as he strolled through from the staff kitchen to briefing, one doughnut in his mouth, another in his hand.  “Are we having a domestic squabble this early in the morning, folks?”

Crockett followed behind the man.  “Nothing that complicated, Swi’.  Hey, are you sure you got enough to eat? – you wouldn’t consider leaving anything for anyone else, would you?”

Switek shook his head, mumbled through a full mouth, “They’re stale.  I’m just preventing anyone else from suffering.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?”

Castillo’s flat voice interrupted the banter.  “Take your seats please, gentlemen.  We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

At the lieutenant’s serious tone, Crockett frowned, while he obligingly grabbed a chair next to Rico at the conference table.  He had hoped that last night’s activities would have relieved Castillo’s sub­merged oppressive tension – now it seemed that the tension was back, even stronger than before.  Although with the dark enigmatic man, it was hard to tell.  His normal daily countenance was serious; and through years of deep undercover, he was as adept as a masterful actor at suppressing all personal reactions and emotions irrelevant to the matters at hand, and projecting only that which he precisely chose to express.

“There’s been a change in plan,” their commander announced without preface, speaking as he perused and signed reports and memos on the table before him.  “A personal duty has arisen for me, which requires my absence for a period of time.  While I’m gone, Crockett will assume command of the team.”

Abruptly Sonny glanced up, catching an unspoken hint of something ill-boding and amorphous behind the other man’s words, something he instantly knew he wanted to forestall if he possibly could.  A needle of cold anxiousness pierced the comfortable warmth of his insides.  Whatever relief he had managed to elicit for his supervisor and for himself while they had shared a warm bed the night before, not a trace of it remained now, not for either of them any longer.  Even the familiarity of the previous friendly banter with Rico now dissipated beneath the blunt chill of Castillo’s aura.

If Castillo noted the effect his pronouncement made on his subordinate, he showed no heed.  Eyes still engrossed in the reports and papers at hand, he inquired, “Sonny, what is the status of the Garcia investigation?”

Sonny shook his head clear of the mental meanderings; forcibly dragged his attention back to the briefing.  “Nothing solid yet.  Nine days, and he’s still too antsy to show us the stuff.  The most he’ll say is that he has a load coming up from Lima any day now.”

“How big?”

“Twenty ki’s, and he’s promising thirty more next week.  Twenty thou’ a ki – we talked him down from twenty-five.  But ‘due to unforeseen circumstances’, the shipment has been delayed.”

“Do you think there’s a chance he’s onto your covers?”

“No,” Sonny asserted, and Rico silently shook his head in agreement.  “That’s not the vibes I’m picking up.  I think we’re still cool.  We’re just gonna have to wait him out.”

“ ‘Unforeseen circumstances’,” Switek chuckled to himself.  “Circumstances like maybe some, uh, unauthorized herbicide ‘fertilizing’ of the coca fields, courtesy DEA?”

The negligible comment drew little smiles around the table, except from Crockett and their taciturn supervisor.

Glancing up sharply, Castillo shoved a couple of papers in Switek’s direction.  “The wire-tap authorization for Garcia’s house and office came through.  How soon can you and Zito set it up?”

The big blond man shrugged, scanning the judicial notice.  “The office we can do today – we’ll just go in as phone repairmen and say we’re checking all the companies in the building for an in-line problem.  The house, probably not until tomorrow night.  That’s when Garcia and his boys go out for their weekly night-on-the-town, and leave the premises under minimum security.”

“Even so,” Zito added, “we’d like at least one extra man for back-up when we do it.”

“Take Carter.  And don’t wait any longer than tomorrow,” the lieutenant responded tersely.  “If there’s a possibility that Garcia is onto Crockett’s and Tubbs’ covers, we need to know it now, before the buy is scheduled.”

Switek’s blue eyes frowned slightly with confusion at the more-than-usual curtness emanating subliminally from the Hispanic.  “Sure, Lieutenant.  Of course.”

Without a further word, Castillo’s attention diverted to the two women sitting across from Sonny and Rico; he passed several folders to Gina.  “The Thompson report is acceptable; the Herrera prelim is not.  You haven’t shown criminal intent that the victim was forcibly administered the heroin by her rapist.”

“His fingerprints were on the syringe,” Trudy insisted.  “And when I interviewed Maria Her­rera in the hospital, she was obviously too distraught to tell anything but the truth.”

“She’s a known user.”

“Of cocaine – not heroin.  He shot her up with smack, then forced intercourse when she was nearly unconscious.”

Castillo ignored the urgency in the black woman’s voice.  “The DA is going to need more explicit details regarding the vic­tim’s drug habit to prove lack of consent.  Otherwise, you’ll have to prove intent by some other cir­cumstances.”

“The girl wasn’t lying, Lieutenant,” Gina reiterated her partner.  “I’m sure of that.”

“That’s not good enough for the DA.  You know that.  Find more corroborating evidence and re-do your report.”

Shoulders slumping in resignation, Trudy acceded grudgingly, “Yes, sir.”

“What about priors?” Rico suggested.  “If the SOB’s got a thing for whacked-out teenagers, he’s probably done the same thing before.  NCIC oughtta show something on file.”

“Check by M.O.,” Castillo reminded succinctly; then moved on to another topic, handing out packets to everyone.  “These are your annual 314’s.  Fill them out and return them to Division before the 27th.  Also, remember that third-quarter firearms quals are scheduled for the next two Saturdays.  Are there any questions?”

Zito raised a finger.  “Yeah – has the search warrant come through for the Espinoza case?”

“No.  However, right now the Garcia surveillance has priority.  I want you and Switek to remain with the van.  When the Espinoza warrant comes through, Tubbs can serve it.”  Black eyes shifted over the six people around the table one more time.

“All right, that’s all.  You’re dismissed.”

As the others filed out of the room, Sonny lingered behind while the lieutenant gathered up the re­maining paperwork.  Concerned gaze studied the older man; then following Castillo into his office, Sonny closed the door after them, enveloping them both in privacy.

“You’re leaving for awhile?”

“Yes.”  Castillo stood in front of his desk, back to the blond, separating the rest of the papers and files.  Some he dropped into an open briefcase, the rest he left on the desktop.

Awkwardness and a little uncertainty fluttered in Crockett’s belly, as he strolled a few steps closer behind his supervisor.  When did concern cross the line into meddling?  But if he didn’t say some­thing now, the uneasiness would never go away.  
  
_to be continued_ …


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last night’s butterflies-in-the-stomach had transmuted into dull knife-thrusts slicing into his gut, and the heavy throb of his heart was no longer that of sexual excitement, but rather a nauseating sense of apprehension and ill-premonition…

Awkwardness and a little uncertainty fluttered in Crockett’s belly, as he strolled a few steps closer behind his supervisor.  When did concern cross the line into meddling?  But if he didn’t say something now, the uneasiness would never go away.

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know.  It’s impossible to tell.”

For a lingering moment, Sonny’s frown rested on the back of the man’s head, on thick black waves.  Of their own accord, sensual memories resurfaced, memories of the fresh scent and silken touch of that hair against his lips, his chest, his thighs.  He could hardly prevent himself from reaching up to finger it once again.  Adamantly he fought back the desire.

“Martin, are you going undercover?”

Now, finally, the studious black eyes shifted to Crockett’s face for long contact, reacting to the other man’s piercing insight; the deep quiet voice replied succinctly, “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, Sonny.  I’m sorry.”

“DEA?” the blond pressed.  “The Company?”

Castillo’s gaze held without wavering, but he said nothing more.

With a shrug of helplessness, Sonny insisted, “If I’m being left in charge, shouldn’t I know what’s going on?”

“It has nothing to do with the OCB.  If you run into any problems here, go to the captain.”

Anxiety settle low and heavy in Crockett’s belly, anxiety like he hadn't felt in a long time, not since he’d lost his family, not since Carolyn had left him and taken Billy with her… god, if he lost Martin now…  He cleared his throat to swallow past the lump which had suddenly appeared.

“Marty… when were we gonna talk about last night?”

Eyes flickering over Sonny’s open pleading countenance, Castillo drew a breath, his own expression unreadable.

“C’mon, Marty, talk to me.  Something’s going down, and I’ve got a bad gut feeling.”  Green eyes entreated, asking questions which Castillo couldn’t answer.  Warmth flowed over Sonny’s skin as the lieutenant watched him, as the dark gaze scrutinized him.

Castillo moved closer.  “Last night can’t affect us now.  We both have jobs to do – the same jobs as yesterday.  Personal desires can’t interfere – you know that.”

Frustration sagged the blond head.  “I know.”  Stomach muscles tightened around a dull weight.  Crockett turned away, his back to Castillo.  “Damn,” he swore, his voice barely audible.  Standing there with his hands in his pockets, head tilted back, he could feel his supervisor’s eyes laser into him.

“Sonny.”  Castillo’s voice was level and even, but compelling.

Crockett twisted his head.  Over his shoulder he saw that the lieutenant had stopped his work and seemed to be waiting for the continuation of Sonny’s outburst.  Sonny looked at him, unable to maintain calm as effectively as Castillo could, and asked directly, “What was last night all about?”

Leaving his work on the desk, Castillo strolled the distance between them, gaze cast down, softening the intensity of their communion.  “It was about two friends who care a great deal for each other.”

Crockett nodded and rubbed the back of his neck.  It ached.  Everything ached.  “Enough to continue the… relationship?” he tested.

“An office affair,” the dark man mused.  Sliding hands into pants’ pockets, the Hispanic frowned at the black-and-white linoleum floor.  “It’s never encouraged.  In our line of work, it’s a dangerous liability.”

Carefully Sonny watched him, assessed the near-expressionless visage.  “So, does that mean that last night was a one-time shot?  Do you regret what we did?”

A hand rubbed over a tired face, smoothed black moustache.  “I don’t participate in one-night encounters, Sonny.  And if I was going to regret last night, I never would have suggested anything beyond dinner.”  Release of breath.  “But we’ve both been cops for a long time.  We both know the job comes first.”  Sharp eyes rose, challenged unblinkingly.

Momentarily Sonny matched the stare, experiencing the tension locking them together, a tangle of emotions:  desire, worry, concern, need.  Then with a sigh of his own, he relented and glanced away, interrupting the confrontation.  “Yeah.  Yeah, we do.  But just this once, I wish we didn’t.”

The briefcase clicked shut.  “Now, I’ve got a plane to catch, and you’ve got work to do.  Take care of the team for me.”  Another glance of black eyes, then the lieutenant headed for the door.

A hand clutched his arm.  Concern creased the other man’s brow, beneath a feathering of blond bangs.  “At least tell me this isn’t some suicide mission the Company’s called you back for.  Tell me you _are_ coming back.”

Sharply-etched countenance softened, fingers brushed Sonny’s hand.  “Keep the saké warm for me.”

Then he walked out, and Sonny was left staring after the departing figure.  And last night’s butterflies-in-the-stomach had transmuted into dull knife-thrusts slicing into his gut, and the heavy throb of his heart was no longer that of sexual excitement, but rather a nauseating sense of apprehension and ill-premonition…

“Hey, partner,” Rico spoke from the doorway, concern replacing the earlier playful banter as he eyed the blond.  “You okay?  What’s going on?”

Sonny’s head shook.  “I don’t know.”  Face tightened in frustration.  “I wish to hell I did.”

“What did Castillo have to say?”

“Nothing.  He wouldn’t say anything.”  A tired breath escaped Crockett’s nostrils, and he stepped over to the window.

Down below on the street, a dark blue Plymouth Reliant pulled out of the basement parking garage into traffic; and something inside Sonny wanted to see the vehicle turn around right then and there, end this foreboding mystery… and something inside him knew that nothing would end that simply.

“God, Rico,” he muttered, “I know better than to get emotionally involved, but I’ve got police instincts, too.  And right now I’m getting damn bad vibes.  Whatever Marty’s involved, it feels like something’s going down real wrong.”

Strolling up behind the white man, Rico watched him through half-lowered lids.  “Partner, you _are_ emotionally involved, and you’re broadcasting it loud and clear.”

“So, what’s wrong with that, anyway?” Crockett suddenly demanded shortly.  “Why the hell can’t I be emotionally involved with someone I care about?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Rico agreed, “until it causes you to start making situational misjudgments.  You saw the way Castillo acted this morning.  He knows how to handle it.”

“Hell, I don’t even know _what_ Marty thinks of it.”

A shrug lifted Rico’s shoulders.  “Well, I don’t know exactly what you two did last night, but I can’t imagine Castillo takin’ it lightly.  You know he’s not that kind of guy.  He just keeps his perspective balanced – in the end, everything works out best that way – for you, for him… for whatever has called him away today.  Trust him.”

“I do trust him… it’s whatever’s called him away that I feel real weird about.  And that’s coming from my instincts, not my emotions.”

Pale eyes set in dark face cautioned carefully, “Just make sure you can tell the difference, okay?  Listen, would you like some company this evening?”

Finally Sonny looked back at his partner, intensity interrupted, at least for the moment.  “Yeah… maybe… I dunno,” he responded lamely.  Then pushing himself into action, he patted the Rico’s arm on his way out the door.  “C’mon, let’s hit the bricks.  The streets are waiting for us.”

* * * * *  ( _to be continued_ )


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Sonny and the rest for the OCB team behind, Castillo is called back to the Company – and old ghosts refuse to dead. 
> 
> McClain had shrugged. “Look, Marty, we know how close your old gang was. But people change – loyalty can only go so far. Gretsky went over; now it looks like Tremayne’s gone rogue…” At the mention of Jack’s name, black eyes had flashed. “Jack Gretsky never went over, and you know it. The Company lied to me about him – how do I know you’re not lying to me now about Tremayne? What aren’t you telling me?”

Forty-two minutes later, the Continental 727 lifted off from runway 9-R at Miami Interna­tional, and headed toward the wisps of high haze drifting along the Atlantic coastline.

Glancing out the wing-window, beyond the extended silver flaps and aileron, as the jet circled back into an westerly heading, Castillo looked down on the retreating city far below, his thoughts resting on a man waiting down there somewhere.

Sonny’s wash of emotions had nearly been palpable this morning in the briefing room, from vibra­tions of last night’s sexual pleasure and excitement to the sudden dawning awareness this mor­ning that something happening against this will was out of his control, and that he had to stand by impo­tently and just watch it go down.  There was nothing Castillo could have said, despite everything he had wanted to say.  He knew he could trust Sonny – could trust him implicitly – but now even that wasn’t enough.  Not since the brief succinct note left on his desk last afternoon.

The enigmatic letter had arrived yesterday via inter-office mail from Metro-Dade HQ.  No one there remembered anything unusual about the messenger who had dropped off the sealed envelope marked only with Castillo’s name.

Alone in his inner-sanctum, Martin Castillo had looked over the small note paper lying alone on the bare desk, and read over the three brief sentences once again:  _Judas has gone ahead.  Am calling in the marker.  Come to St. George, Utah._   Beneath that was printed the Spanish word _Sacar_ and a phone number.

Alex Tremayne.

 _Sacar_ had been his code name back in Thailand.  Of the twelve commandos in Castillo’s DEA unit, Tremayne had been the interrogation specialist.  A man good at his job, and the only mem­ber still alive besides Castillo.

Now even their CIA betrayer was gone.  Gone ahead – to the afterlife.

Although Castillo couldn’t say he regretted the news about that particular individual – Dale Menton, a CIA mole who had burned his unit to the Thai drug-lord they were investigating, and set them up for slaughter – the news of his demise had reawakened old pain, old memories of a past which refused to stay dead.

A year ago, Menton had surfaced in Miami, still tied after all that time to the drug-lord; four months ago, Jack Gretsky, the unit’s co-commander, thought dead, had shown up again for a brief but intimate reunion which had ended in abrupt tragedy.

Now Alex Tremayne was requesting Castillo’s assistance, and both of them knew that Castillo would come.

After the ambush, Tremayne had efficiently gotten him to a Bangkok hospital, filed all the necessary reports with DEA-Washington, and kept the operation on track until Washington had for­mally disbanded the defunct unit and called the two of them home.  So now if Alex was calling in the marker, Castillo would willingly respond.

It wasn’t difficult to read between the lines of the fourteen cryptic words as to the reason for the call.  The Company knew perfectly well how Castillo and Tremayne felt about Menton; the fact that both of them had worked in the Company prior to DEA only made the betrayal that much more heinous.  And now, whether or not Tremayne was guilty of taking Menton out, the Company was tracking him down, and so he had called an old teammate for help.

Castillo had accumulated more comp-time on the books than he would ever use up – now was a good time to take some of it.  And no one – not even the chief – needed to know why.

And now, as the jet cruised 30,000 feet over the Mississippi Delta, Castillo let his mind drift from old relationships to new ones:  his present unit, whom he’d known for the past three years, a group of people who worked together as tightly as his jungle commandos had; people he cared about just as deeply.

Memories returned of his senior detective, the good-looking man who had tried eagerly last night to lift Castillo’s spirits, taking it upon himself to dissipate the oppressive demons weighing his supervisor down.  Even though the demons couldn’t be exorcised, at least they had retreated momentarily from the kind attentiveness, the won­derful hot passion which had filled the night.

His morning shower had sluiced away the night’s sweat and cum, but couldn’t eliminate the lingering sensations of Sonny’s hands on his body, fingers carding through his hair, tongue insinuating itself into his mouth and exploring him, internal muscles squeezing his cock to long-denied ecstasies.

They’d made intense love long into the night, ignoring the reality that tomorrow was a work day, finally slept for a few hours still tangled together in intimate embrace, awoke early in the dark and relieved each other’s morning erections, slept a little more; then, when sunlit day refused to be ignored any longer, Sonny had grudgingly dragged himself out of bed and taken his leave, and Martin had climbed into the shower.  They would have shared the bath too, but if they had, neither would have made it to work on time.

He hadn't had a male lover since Jack, and that had been an eternity more than ten years ago, before either of they was married; and since May Ying’s disappearance, he hadn't had anyone at all except his right hand, hadn’t trusted or allowed anyone to get close – until Sonny Crockett had come into his life.

And even then, Castillo had waited three years before last night.

That was the hell of this line of work, the poison in the fruit:  to work tightly with your fellow agents, depend on each other for your very lives, and yet never trust anyone not to turn on you in a heartbeat.

But Jack he had trusted… and May Ying.

And now he trusted Sonny, and who could say what would become of that?

He had barely finished his shower and was toweling off, when the doorbell had chimed.  Slip­ping into a short black silk kimono and cinching the obi about his waist, he had padded downstairs to answer the door, assuming it was Sonny returning for some item forgotten.

The man at the door hadn't looked like an intelligence operative.  But that was one reason he was so good at his job, and _that_ was one reason he had commanded the Company’s Western Division for the past eight years.  Slouched on the doorstep, belly hanging a few inches over his belt, pale eyes appearing slightly unfocussed behind horn-rimmed glasses, Claude McClain looked more like a beer commercial than the top espionage agent in this section of the country.

“Mornin’, Marty,” the big man had greeted, pleasantly innocuous.  “Been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“We’ve both been occupied,” Castillo had replied just as non-committally, face bland, while his mind had raced, coldly logical.  For his old operator to show up on the tail of Menton’s death was too obvious to be coincidental.  So, either the Company had known about Tremayne’s letter – code name or no – and had tracked it to Castillo, or he was a suspect himself, and McClain had arrived to take him down.

“Why don’t you invite me in, Marty?” the older man had suggested.  “We’ve got something of mutual interest to discuss.”

Obligingly Castillo had opened the screen door and let him in, every nerve and muscle on subtle alert.

McClain had stepped a short way inside, casually glancing over the interior, no doubt taking mental notes for possible future use.  Through the sliding glass door across the dining area, the mor­ning sun lit the patio and jungle garden beyond.

“Dale Menton is dead,” the balding blond man had announced without preface, not even look­ing at Castillo, not bothering to notice the effect of his statement on the other man.

Castillo’s face had remained impassive.  “Good,” he had responded bluntly, and had said nothing more.  If McClain knew or suspected that Tremayne had already made contact, at least Castillo wasn’t going to corroborate it.

“Don’t say that,” McClain had chided, turning again to face him.  “We know how you and your boys felt about him.  But he was tortured to death.  Nobody deserves that.”

A faint shadow had passed over Castillo’s expression, but he had made no comment.

“He was on assignment with the Southwest Division, following a case in Arizona – southern Utah,” the big man had ex­plained.  “Three days ago, his body was found in a dry stream-bed across the Mexican border, just out­side Nogales.  According to the coroner, he’d been gutted alive and left to die… and that was after someone had done a job on him.”

Empathetic pain had tightened Castillo’s belly, and yet he could also remember the screams of his own men, cut down by Menton’s treachery ten years before, remember the agony on the face of a friend dying even as Castillo had held the man close; and he had very little sympathy left for Men­ton.

He had frowned at his visitor.  “So what do you want of me?

Availing himself of a nearby hard-backed chair, McClain had looked up at the lean Hispanic man.  “Our number-one suspect is your old buddy, Alex Tremayne.  He’s been living in southern Utah these day – owns a ranch outside of St. George.  We want you to go in.  See what he’s up to, and bring him in for questioning.”

“Or eliminate him,” Castillo had interpreted bluntly.

McClain had simply shrugged.  “Only if you have to.  We’d rather have him alive.”

“Why Tremayne?  I’m sure a lot of people would like to see Menton dead.”

“That may be true,” the older man had allowed, drawing some items from his shirt pocket, “but how many in Southern Utah are familiar with Thai ritual-torture interrogation techniques?”  and he had handed half-a-dozen snapshots to Castillo.

Snapshots of Menton – or what was left of him:  two of the mutilated body staked out in a sandy wash somewhere, four on a morgue table.  The torture had obviously been lengthy and thorough; extremi­ties and torso slashed bloody, not just with random cutting but with obvious elaborate pictographs.

A brief flick of hand toward the photos.  “Recognize the work?”

“Yes.”  He’d seen this kind of cutting before, back in Thailand.  Tremayne would have too, but Castillo had made no comment about that.  Instead he’d retorted, “You have your own people.  My Company status is inactive.  Why do you need me?”

“You’ve just been reactivated.  You can get closer to your old friend than we can.  Besides, our people in the area may have been burned.  We don’t know if Menton was interrogated as well as tortured, but if he was, he could have said a lot that would put the locals at risk.”

“So, I’m supposed to go in and tie up all the loose ends for you.  What makes you assume that I’ll take down one of my own men?”

Again McClain had shrugged.  “Don’t sound so self-righteous, Marty.  Look, we know how close your old gang was.  But people change – loyalty can only go so far.  Gretsky went over; now it looks like Tremayne’s gone rogue…”

At the mention of Jack’s name, black eyes had flashed.  “Jack Gretsky never went over, and you know it.  The Company lied to me about him – how do I know you’re not lying to me now about Tremayne?  What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m telling you everything you need to know.  If you can bring him in without taking him down, then that’s all we ask.”

“For you to hold him for trial, or course.”  A trial which he’d never live to see.

“Of course.”  Hazy blue eyes had suddenly focussed crystal-sharp.  “Marty, you’ve been a player for eighteen years.  Don’t start acting now like you disapprove of the rules.  I admit, the Company played a little rough with your DEA unit ten years ago; one of our objectives is to prevent DEA probes from jeopar­dizing certain… national and foreign interests.  For you to work both sides of the fence is automati­cally going to involve you in a conflict of ethics at times.  So what? – that’s up to you to resolve yourself.  Right now your assignment is to bring in Tremayne for Menton’s murder, regardless of your feelings for either man.”

Then pushing himself up from the chair, McClain had strolled back to the door.  “Report to Charlie Kohagen at the Cedar City field office.  He’ll fill you in on the specifics.”

Castillo had said nothing, but watched the other man walk away to an unassuming beige 1970 Buick Riviera parked in front.  And suddenly last night’s distraction with Sonny had seemed a very long time ago.

Morning had arrived inexorably, and with it, all the day’s demands.  And no longer was there any time for luxuries such as emotional pleasure and union.  The demons of duty had snatched back their usurped positions, and Castillo couldn’t even let Sonny know what was going on.  If he had, Sonny would have insisted upon coming along, which Castillo couldn’t have allowed.  He had found it nearly impossible not to acknowledge the blond’s perceptive intuition that something bad was going down.  Yet if he did end up going up against the CIA, then his badge and his career and pro­bably even his life were forfeit – but he refused to risk Sonny’s as well.

Staring out the window of the plane, he watched the steady progress of the jet’s silhouette across the landscape.

* * * * *  ( _to be continued_ )


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castillo arrives in Utah, and meets up with the Company agents from the field office. 
> 
> But even as he lay in bed, his conscious mind pounded at him: what piece of the puzzle hadn't he been given? And why? But for all they wouldn’t reveal, he had his secrets too.

The summer sun was traveling its afternoon arc toward the mountain peaks on the horizon when the twenty-passenger commuter plane touched down at the Cedar City Airport just a few minutes after its scheduled 6 PM arrival time.  Solar rays painted the conifer hillside a montage of greens and yellows and browns, while clumps of grey and white cloud patches slid across the sky.

Through the window, Castillo watched the plane play hide-and-seek with its shadow as it maneuvered around the rain-wet tarmac into its assigned parking position.  Then the seatbelt light flashed off, and Castillo stood up and stretched his legs.  The trip had been uneventful but boringly long.  A mid-flight layover in Houston, then an hour-and-a-half delay in Salt Lake City where he’d changed planes for the jump down to the southern-most portion of the state.  En route he’d corrected his watch to Mountain Time, but his body still worked ahead, operating on the two-hour differential from Eastern Time.

He would collect his one piece of luggage, then take a cab into town to Charlie Kohagen’s office.  For the night, he’d stay in a motel, then head on to St. George in the morning.  If Tremayne had known that Castillo was here now, he would probably urge him to spend the night at the ranch.  But Castillo still didn’t know for certain what was going on, and he had no intention of walking into an unknown situation in a strange place in the dark.

As he stepped down the metal stairs into the brisk mountain air, his gaze cast disinterestedly about the scattering of a dozen or so people waiting on the concrete to greet the arriving passengers.  Almost immediately his eyes singled out two men:  one, husky with curly red-brown hair and a boyish face which would never look a day over thirty-five; the other, lean, tall, and tow-headed.  Both were dressed in denim jackets and jeans and boots, just like a couple of local cowboys.

Except that to Castillo’s experienced sight, they couldn’t have looked more obvious if they’d been wearing signs around their necks sporting federal stars.  Without hesitation, he walked directly over to the duo.

“Which one of you is Kohagen?”

The two men grinned, then the redhead winked and extended a hand.  “McClain said you were good.  I’m Charlie Kohagen, this is Dale Littlethorn.  Part Kiowa, believe it or not.  Thought we’d save you some cab-fare, drive you to your motel, and brief you on the way.”

Perfunctorily Castillo shook his hand, then the blond Indian’s.  They flanked him as the three of them entered the terminal.

“So how’s Miami these days?” Littlethorn mentioned conversationally.  “Only time I’ve been to Florida was eight years ago, summer vacation, took the wife and kids to see Disney World, and the Everglades.  We spent one afternoon in Miami jet-skiing.”

“It hasn’t changed.”  Following the crowd of his fellow passengers, Castillo wended his way to the baggage-claim area.  “Hot and muggy.”

“Well, you’ll feel right at home then,” Kohagen interjected.  “This is our monsoon season.  I hope you brought your rain gear.  Hot as hell during the day, then in the afternoon it clouds up and rains for a couple of hours, then blows over.  ‘Course you get a lot more rain in Florida.”

“Yes.” With one word, Castillo concluded the routine portion of the conversation as he picked up his suitcase and headed to the parking lot with his escort.  “So, what do you have to tell me?”

 Kohagen led the way to a wine-colored Pontiac Grand Am.  “We reserved a room for you at the Big Ranch Motel.  And here are the keys to a company car, already parked in front of your room.”

As they travelled along the main drag, the blond handed him a folder from the back seat.  “Here’s the file on your buddy Tremayne.  Like McClain probably told you, we need you to go in, collect any evidence, and bring Tremayne out.”

The Latin flipped through the file.  It didn’t say much more than what McClain had told him, and what he’d gotten out of the computer himself after he’d received Tremayne’s note.  Some back-history, the fact that Tremayne now ran a quarter-horse ranch near St. George, address, phone number.  Some photos of an older Alex Tremayne than Castillo remembered from six years ago – age had caught up with him quickly – tall and thin almost to the point of gauntness, still-full head of hair but completely silver now.  He looked even more the distinguished British lord or diplomat than before.

There were more snapshots of Menton’s corpse in the dry wash, and some of the surrounding area; a few close-ups showing the mutilation detail.  In death, the man’s face had frozen into a rictus of agony.

“You’re sure Tremayne is the perpetrator,” Castillo queried levelly.

“Oh yeah,” Littlethorn asserted.  “We just want you to get some corroboration for us – a confession would be nice.  You’re his old buddy, maybe he’ll open up to you.”

The Hispanic glanced a sidelong gaze over the seat-back.  Hopefully the comment had been made in jest, or Company agents were a lot stupider than Castillo remembered.  He didn’t bother to reply that Tremayne, an interrogation specialist, knew better than anyone not to open up to anyone – especially not to some long-lost buddy who suddenly appeared on his door-step.

“We don’t care what cover you use to get in.  Tell him you’re on vacation and saw his address in the phone book – whatever.  We’ll be down in St. George at this phone number, to back you up if you need us.  But until you call, we’ll stay out of your way.  This is your ball-game.”

With half his attention, Castillo watched the businesses and houses whisk by, as the Pontiac navigated through town.  A change from metropolitan Miami.

“What was Menton doing near Tremayne?” the dark man probed.  “What reason would Tremayne have for taking him down?”

Kohagen steered onto a side street.  “Menton was on assignment out of our office.  Somehow Tremayne must have discovered him and trapped him.”

“Why?”

The Company man shrugged.  “Retribution for the Mae Sai incident, what else?  For what he did to your team, you probably wanted him decommissioned as much as Tremayne did.  Hell, we’d suspect _you_ , if you’d had the opportunity, but you didn’t.  Kind of ironic now, isn’t it, that you’re the one being sent to investigate his murder?”

Castillo said nothing.

Pulling into the parking lot of the Big Ranch Motel, Kohagen stopped the sedan behind a green Dodge standing in Room 38’s stall.  “There’s your car, you’re already checked into the room.  Across the street is Jerry’s Corral – best steak-house in town.  What d’ya say we meet over there for dinner about six, and finish up the briefing then?”

Castillo merely nodded terse acknowledgement.

But later as he lay in bed, he considered that what they were pleased to call a briefing, he more bluntly pronounced a smoke-screen.

They hadn't answered any of his real questions, and obviously had no intention of doing so.  _What aren’t you telling me?_ he had questioned, and they had mirrored the same bland rationale as McClain… and practically his words as well:  _you know as much as you need to know, and just give us a call when you want back-up or when you’re ready to come in._

Well, maybe Alex had killed Menton, or maybe he hadn't.  And if he had, maybe it was because of Mae Sai, or maybe it wasn’t.

But for all they wouldn’t reveal, he had his secrets too.

They didn’t seem to be aware of Tremayne’s note to him, and he wasn’t about to enlighten them that his real reason for being here was that message, and not the Company assignment.

After dinner, he had returned to his room, but then went out again to an all-night convenience store a little distance away, and called Alex’s number from a pay-phone there, to leave word on the answering machine of his arrival.  He wouldn’t put it past the Company to bug the motel room, so he did nothing of import there, but took a shower and went to bed early.

But even as he lay there, his conscious mind pounded at him:  _what piece of the puzzle hadn't he been given?  And why?_

Finally he drifted to sleep, and dreams replaced the demanding questions:  dreams of a blond lover with laughing green eyes and firm muscular thighs and a hot tight ass which gave him pleasure several times throughout the night.

  
* * * * *  ( _to be continued_ )


End file.
